Hellfire
by JamedVelocity
Summary: A woman, convicted of witchcraft is sent to Earthland—heart in frenzies and faith ripped to shreds, she finds herself convicted no matter how bright and fanciful this new land is. Scathed and scarred forever, Laure has no choice but to trust these strange people as they slowly mold her into a human being once more, powerful and vengeful. [OCxCanon]


**Title:** Hellfire

**Rated:** T

**Summary:**

A woman, convicted of witchcraft is sent to Earthland—heart in frenzies and faith ripped to shreds, she finds herself convicted no matter how bright and fanciful this new land is. Scathed and scarred forever, Laure has no choice but to trust these strange people as they slowly mold her into a human being once more, powerful and vengeful. [OCxCanon]

**A/N:** No offense is meant to any parties of both religion and cult, I hope you enjoy the story.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything except my OC.

* * *

"_Now here is a riddle to guess_

_If you can,_

_Sing the bells of_

_Notre Dame,_

_Who is the monster and_

_Who is the man?"_

* * *

"La brûler!"**[2]**They yelled, "La pendre!"**[3]**

The fire on torch illuminated the cuts and bruises on her skin, the burnt edges of her hair and her dirtied white nightgown—her eyes burned rage and betrayal as her face was once more pelted with rocks of sharp edges, hot and like brimstone on mountains; that night, no matter how cold that December wind was; Laure knew that there would be no forgiveness nor would there be any peace after this—not for her soul, nor for her family.

"Cette sorcière vile doit être brûlé!"**[3] **One of the townsmen said, his voice filled with spite as he kicked her in the stomach, "Que Dieu nous accorde la protection de la sanctification du pécheur!"**[4] **

"Non! Je ne suis pas une sorcière!"**[5] **Laure screamed, writhing in pain—her eyes trying to mask the rage inside her boiling blood, "I am no witch! I am a human! I swear on in the name of the Lord!"

"She says she swears on the Lord!" The townsfolk began to whisper, "The witch has said the forbidden! She must be killed!" Roaring once more, they waved their pitchforks high in the air and began stomping their feet.

"No! Please, I beg of you!" There was no end to chaos that night, none—only conviction and rage as they dragged her by the hair to the towns square, where everything was nothing but red—oh how she despised the color.

Oh how had it come to this? How could she ever be called a witch? She had been practicing of no magic of any sort—merely sweeping in the early morning to serve her lord, had it been somehow who held hate against her? Had it been the blacksmith she had smuggled money from? The baker whose love was rejected by her? The jester who had merely cracked a joke and she punched him? Who? Who was the one who has sent her to such despair?

"—GUILTY!"

Cheers of happiness and roars of pleasure erupted from all the people of Paris, they waved their pitchforks and torches of terror in the air and the poor girl, Laure, the convicted; she ran. Her feet bounding to search for sanctuary, a cathedral, a church—somewhere where she would be granted safety, "Sanctuary!" She yelled, her hazel hair flying, "Please! Give me sanctuary!"

And there it was, off in the far off distance—it was an odd Cathedral, wooden and not cement, not marble, not rock—wooden. But though it had no cross, no statues of her God, it had an odd sign; it looked like a faerie dancing; orange and grand. But the building, it gave off a glow—light, fading.

Using the last amount of strength she had, Laure had rammed her body on the door of the building with all her might, it didn't budge and she panicked, ramming it with her body multiple times as invisible chains seemed to rattle and unlock until the grand wooden doors of the building opened.

Laure fell inside, into the dark of the building—tables, a wooden counter, empty glass bottles; it didn't feel empty and it looked less like a cathedral nor a church but more of a bar.

"Inside! She went that way!"

Laure looked back and saw the people with torches high in the air, pitchforks flashing with imaginary blood. The beaten woman quickly stood and closed the doors, sliding a pole inside handles of the door; making it almost impossible for anyone to enter.

The mob of people began to ram the door open with their own bodies, ramming and ramming like lifeless dolls—dead, dead bodies.

Laure stumbled as she walked backwards, quickly hiding behind the counter table as the building shook—she herself was amazed by the power of the people, they could make a building shake just by pushing it, only with a measly amount of fifty or seventy.

But it still didn't prove any safety for her, even when everything became silent.

There was a whisper outside, "Burn the building, everyone step back."

There were low murmurs and Laure felt her heart exploding silently—she was going to die, in a bar, an unholy place.

Outside, a man with dead eyes and a silent frown lit a match, tears pricking his eyes as he threw it at the building, "Burn."

"BURN!" The townspeople cheered happily, thin charred wood flying into the air and into the moonlight of the night.

_Dies irae, dies illa!_  
_Solvet saeclum in favilla!_  
_Teste David cum sibylla!_  
_Quantus tremor est futurus!_  
_Quando Judex est venturus!_

They sang in praise as the building burned, a woman screamed from the inside and the man who threw the match had waterfalls on tears falling from his eyes—but he hid them and willed not to break down, "Burn… my daughter." Shaking hands folding together, he bowed his head and prayed a small prayer, "Kyrie Eleison."**[6]**

_Now here is a riddle to guess if you can!_  
_Sing the bells of Notre Dame!_  
_Who is the monster and who is the man?_

"SHE IS THE MONSTER!" Everyone screamed, joined by Laure's father(whom was responsible for the burning), "BURN!"

_Sing the bells, bells, bells, bells!_  
_Bells, bells, bells, bells!_  
_Bells of Notre Dame!_

The fire was high and crackling and yet, there came no screams from the burning building—but there, under the counter was a woman wrapped in burned skin and dirtied burning white clothes, asleep and peaceful as the people outside danced as the building came crashing down, thinking that the witch had been killed.

Oh how dastardly wrong they were.

* * *

Clothed in a lavish pink dress, she carried a small leather brown bag with her as she walked into an old run down windmill-attached building—small and quiet. Her white hair bounced as she unlocked the door and came in; she sighed and smiled, still as dusty as ever.

Closing the door behind her, the woman strode to the counter but stopped in mid-step when hearing a steady low hum of breathing from under the counter.

Curious, she peers over the counter and gasps; her pale hands instantly flying to her mouth to stop the shriek that threatened to escape her lungs.

There, leaning on the counter, was a bloodied, charred, tired woman with curly hazel locks and thick eyelashes; her lips chapped and bloody but still red, a faint color of rose on her cheeks as she breathed.

The battered eyes of the woman slowly fluttered open, and Mirajane saw that her right eye was a beaten blue—who could've done this to such a poor girl?

Her lips moved and she spoke a foreign language, and although Mira couldn't understand what it meant—she smiled as the beaten lady spoke them, "Kyrie Eleison."

Unknown to both of them, the ground beneath their feet began to shift and the mountains off in the distance glowed and began to move, slowly.

* * *

**[1]** La brûler : French for _burn her!_

**[2]** La pendre! : French for _hang her!_

**[3]** Cette sorcière vile doit être brûlé! : French for _this vile witch must be burned!_

**[4]** Que Dieu nous accorde la protection de la sanctification du pécheur! : French for _may God grant us the protection of the sanctification of the sinner!_

**[5]** Non! Je ne suis pas une sorcière! : French for _no! I am not a witch!_

**[6]** Kyrie Eleison : Greek for _Lord, have mercy._

**Special Thanks:**

For the people singing and this chapter's quote, The _Bells of Notre Dame_

For the translations, Google Translate

**A/N**: Thank you for reading so far, forgive me if this is really short—but after all, it's just a prologue.

Back in the olden days, women and men were very commonly found to be accused of witchcraft—various _acclaimed_ holy men and women and messengers of God and even normal everyday people accused random people of witchcraft, they all called it sinful and most(if not all) people were sentenced to be hanged or burned because of this.

Again, I mean no offense to Christians/Catholics and anyone who feels offended by the religious content of this story. And though this story retains facts on our world, the entire thing is fiction—any resemblance to anyone or anything in real life is merely a coincidence.

Thank you for reading and please review!


End file.
